


For Rest, One Must Work

by aristocrattttt



Category: Narcos: Mexico (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Experienced female character, F/M, Mild Praise Kink, Oral, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex, Smut, Spanish Dialogue, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top, doggystyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 21:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristocrattttt/pseuds/aristocrattttt
Summary: He was eager, and he was persistent, and he ate pussy the opposite of the way he rolled a joint.





	For Rest, One Must Work

He was eager, and he was persistent, and he ate pussy the opposite of the way he rolled a joint. 

He rarely smoked, as he was not at all one to burn the very thing that had his heart and soul, but when he did he was careful, he caressed the rolling paper, his fingertips were gentle and precise.

Those same long fingers were driving in and out of her—and when they were in the were digging three knuckles deep. His chin was dripping—the same chin that was moving back and forth and around because he was eating her with enough animation to put on television, mouth wide open and tongue wreaking havoc.

She’d gotten good head before, of course, she had been fucking men—not boys—for 10 years now, but this was like nothing she could ever even begin to imagine. When she’d had good head before, the men (and occasionally women) had been very calculated in giving her orgasms. They had a plan, and they were simply executing that good plan. Rafa was a madman, and he had her nearly screaming. She’d never screamed from head before. 

“Oh,” she was gushing. “I-“ There was no sentence there. How could she articulate the pleasure from pure wild that he was giving her?

Oh, she was gushing. He was practically bathing in her, mouth still open and receptive and ready and working and drinking and slurping and pushing her to continue to gush. 

Her body was both very soft and very taut. Her breasts were small but plump, round, with puffy nipples that he had on his mind constantly, when he slept and showered and ate and even now when he had his eyes closed and was relishing in her taste. 

Eventually—who knows if it had been ten minutes or five hours, no one needed to keep track of time when they’re busy soaking red satin sheets—he’s grunting because she’d rocked back onto his dick much harder than he’d expected and he had to readjust himself behind her to make himself more sturdy. Then he’s full on groaning because she’s not even giving him the chance to catch up and she’s fucking herself on his dick, her back muscles flexing with the effort it took to do this on all fours this way but damned if she didn’t make it happen because she’d be damned if she’d give him control when he thought he was gonna have it. 

They went on that way, her, bracing herself against the gaudy headboard he’d bought before she’d had gotten a chance to veto it, practically impaling herself to the level where it couldn’t’ve been comfortable—angle was all wrong and she couldn’t appropriately arch like that. She was getting off purely from the fact that she knew what she was doing to him, she could just hear him grating his teeth. It made her giddy to know that she could just take control and that he would do next to nothing about it. And he wouldn’t’ve, if she knew just a little less obviously. 

He would’ve let her continue had she not craned her neck to shoot him an award winning smile. It was wild and youthful and it touched both ears. She smiled just like he did. That was his smile she was using against him, that was his dick she was fucking, that was his pussy! 

So he took it. A single movement, in a single moment, he threw her off her game and nearly completely off the bed somehow, because suddenly he had one of her hips in the vice of his grip and his other hand was gripping the back of her neck, pushing her down and into the pillows. Her own hands had flown to his hips that would have been making her entire being rattle from their force if it weren’t for the rest of his sizable body pinned against her much smaller one. 

If she thought she was screaming before, she had no clue what to call the muffled, strangled, sounds escaping her now. “Mueve tus manos.” He was growling at her. He was always growling, always driving her insane with that voice of his. Driving him to irritation was her hands that continued to try to stop him, make him go gentle, to be a coward in the way he fucked his woman. “Ahora!” She was startled by his shout into moving them, but had she been in her right mind he would have never gotten away with it, and he knew. 

Now clutching at the sheets and pillows, her feet kicked and her legs squirmed beneath him, because she had ceased to be a coherently thinking human being and had been screwed brainless, and was now a large pleasure center of nerve endings, and every single ending had been set on fire. Much quicker than she could have ever anticipated, she was letting out some sort of guttural nonsense having to do with yes and spasming from head to toe and certainly everywhere in between. But Rafa, man of little rest, kept fucking.

He flipped her over, threw her legs over his shoulders and went on. This way he could stare at her just the way he liked to even when they weren’t fucking. Sometimes he liked to look her in the eyes, her pretty, pretty eyes, not large and wide like Sophia’s but slender and sharp and more deepset. He started at her eyes then, enjoying how startled she was (always) to open hers and find his bearing into her. 

Eventually her eyes fluttered shut again and he allowed himself to look elsewhere. The slackness of her mouth—he kissed her, because how could you look at her pretty lips and not kiss her—to the smooth column of her throat, which he also kissed. He looked back up to her face and found her nose suddenly very endearing. 

Staggeringly, he was overwhelmed by a need to touch. He brushed his fingers over her face, and through her thick hair, and down over her shoulders, over her chest, which he fondled for some time and then down her belly—he loved her belly, it was so, so soft—then he leaned back and parted her lips enough to get a good look at himself, covered in her wetness, and then he was cumming. It took him by surprise, since usually he could feel himself begin to get worked up but not that time. That time it had snuck up on him like he was a virgin all over again. 

She wasn’t finished with him, though. She put her last bit of will that he hadn’t thrusted away into latching herself around him as tightly as she possibly could while he spurted into her and boom. He was roaring. He was so vocal, she loved it.

When he flung himself down beside her she was still grinning. “Rafa,” she taunted him, throwing her leg over his hips. She didn’t finish whatever she was going to say. Just laughed at his very bewildered expression. She wiggled those, wide, round hips, until her pussy—leaking life—was hovering over his still twitching dick. He had the mind, however delirious, not to shake his head in panic—to show weakness—but internally, his heart nearly flew out of his chest. A large puff of breath did, and it nearly made his chest cave in when she placed her drenched pussy on his tingling member and slid forward.

She slid forward, stopped to enjoy how when he tensed this way, the muscles of his arms and shoulders looked impeccablely broad and strong. She slid back and stopped to enjoy the muscles of his stomach clenching together and revealing his strength. Rafa was not the sort of man who had muscles merely for show, he did not lift weights in order to look at himself in the mirror, no. Rafa was strong from the endless physical work he had to do to afford him the giant bed he was getting fucked into now. The thought of their shared youth colliding with her overly sensitive body had her voice pitching high and her pelvis stuttering in its dance, and she poured herself onto him yet again.

Rafa felt as if he may pass out from that alone, but when she wiggled her man-murdering hips again, although he had no clue what was coming next, he knew he would not last through it. In no lifetime was he meant to be this alert after cumming so intensely just moments ago. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his thigh twitched before she had even touched him again. But when she touched him again—“Pinche-“—when she wrapped her lips around him, hollowed out her cheeks, and flicked her tongue right through his slit, he shouted. His hands malfunctioned and flew to her head, pushing her down with such force that she too, audibly shouted, before gagging. She took it with such grace, though, that he was shooting himself down her throat much quicker than he would ever like to admit. 

Finally, she allowed him rest.


End file.
